


Revenge Artist

by Hangmans_Radio



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Non-Graphic Violence, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:05:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hangmans_Radio/pseuds/Hangmans_Radio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For victims of terrible crimes revenge is often a tempting, yet impossible concept. That is unless they find King, a man willing to carry out their revenge for them for a small fee. He'll get his hands dirty, and he'll call it art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hum Hallelujah

“Now then... I think it’s time we got down to business.” 

The priest looked fearfully at the man who had spoken, tears in his eyes as the man moved to pull up a chair and sit opposite him. He was a tall man, slender and graceful when he walked. He was dressed in an outfit identical to that worn by the minister, right down to the white of the dog collar. The priest had thought this man was another cleric, he often had others visit. Father Turner had been in this church for forty years now and anyone in the surrounding area who was just starting out as a pastor would often come to see him and ask advice.

The man sat opposite him was young, he couldn’t be any more than twenty five, and Father Turner had simply assumed he was here for some words of wisdom. But when the man had forced him, with surprising strength, into a nearby chair and tied his wrists in barely thirty seconds he had realised he was wrong. A gag had quickly followed, and it was already growing saturated with saliva as the priest sobbed through it.

“Shall I introduce myself?” The man grinned, his voice strangely soft and melodic. “After all, I know who _you_ are, Father Turner.” The man gave Father Turner time to just stare at him, clearly not surprised that his name was already known. Apparently the priest was something of a celebrity in the community, and that just made this whole thing sweeter. 

“My name,” the man continued after a moment, leaning back into his own chair and draping one long leg over the opposite knee. “Is King. But you can call me your majesty, if you like.” King winked at the priest, smiling so widely he revealed his pearly teeth. 

For what felt like forever to the priest, the two men sat without another word being spoken. Father Turner had no choice but to hold his tongue. He tried desperately to speak through his gag, but it was useless; his words came out muffled and unclear, already twisted from the force of his crying. His tears were leaving wet streaks down his cheeks and his whole face had gone red, his wrinkles running deeper than usual from his screwed up expression. King almost turned his nose up in disgust.

“I suppose I ought to tell you why I’m here...” King sighed, his tone bored as he examined his nails. “Though you should have guessed already... You’ve been a very bad man, haven’t you Father?” King’s eyes flicked up to the priest’s face again, his lips curving up into a smirk. “Very bad indeed...”

“Mrmm mmm!” The priest struggled to free his wrists from the rope binding them, his muscles aching from how his arms had been stretched behind both himself and the back of the chair. “Mmmph!” He began to rock slightly, but it did nothing to help his situation. All it did was cause an even wider smile to stretch across King’s face as he watched him with darkly swirling eyes. 

“You know, I never went to church when I was a little boy.” King was back to examining his nails, his soft voice resonating deep in his throat. The depth of his voice seemed slightly out of place against his tall, lean body and sparkling blue eyes. His hair was a light brown colour, though darkened somewhat from hair products used to slick it back, neat and tidy off his forehead. He was incredibly attractive, all strong jaw and defined cheekbones, his long lashes only making him appear more sinister as he grinned that dark grin of his. 

“Do you think you would have wanted me? If you had seen me as a child?” 

“Mrrmm! MMMPH!” The priest had stopped rocking by now, and was instead trying to lean forward in his chair, tears falling thick and fast as he desperately shook his head. The little hair he had left was grey and wispy, and it shook away from his scalp easily to become messy and erratic with the shaking of his head. “UHMMM MMM!”

“Oh shush now.” King scoffed, flicking his hand as if trying to get rid of an irritating fly as he jumped to his feet so quickly his chair fell backwards and clattered to the floor. “There’s no point in denying it Father. I know what you desire, I know that you just LOVE little children you SICK BASTARD!” The shouting was sudden and unexpected, King’s smiling face warping into a look of such fury it was almost demonic. His eyes blazed and his face went red, mouth wide and teeth bared, but it was over as quickly as it came. Before the priest had time to fully take it in King’s face was once more perfectly smooth and placid, smile gently in place, leaving Father Turning shaking more violently than ever.

“Mmhmm... mmm... mrmm...” It was clear Turner was no longer trying to form words, instead simply moaning and sobbing as he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He was shaking so hard the chair was rattling slightly, his black clothes feeling tight and clammy he was so nervous. He was sweating hard, beads of perspiration starting to roll down his forehead and temples. 

King was starting to pace slowly back and forth infront of the priest’s chair, hands resting over each other behind his back as he took slow, measured steps. His back was perfectly straight, his chin in the air as he smiled to himself. He was savouring the sound of the priest’s sobs, dragging out the moment until Turner’s crying was pitching higher, fear just dripping through the sound. King had to pause for just a moment, one foot infront of the other, his eyes closing as he inhaled slowly and exhaled again with a sigh of utter delight. Then he began to pace ever so slowly again, eyes fluttering open.

“Tell me, Father Turner, do you recall anyone with the name of Jonathon Bennet?” King stopped directly opposite Turner, spinning gracefully on his heel so that he was facing him. He smiled serenely down at him, though his lips twisted into a cruel grin at the way the priest’s head shot up, eyes wide and full of horror as he met his gaze. 

“Mm... I thought as much...” King purred, stepped closer to the priest until their legs were almost touching. He leant down, back still perfectly straight, until he was barely an inch from Turner’s face. “I only know Mr. Bennet as the thirty year old accountant... but you must know him as the ten year old schoolboy. Oh it’s just too SWEET.” King roared the final word into Turner’s face, a shudder rippling through his straight spine though whether from delight or disgust it was impossible to tell.

Turner bowed his head again, sobbing so fiercely he was almost choking on his gag. The rag was tied so tightly around his head it was cutting into the corners of his mouth, and it was now so saturated with saliva that small droplets had began to trek down his chin. He felt disgusting and degraded, and he remembered fleetingly how he had gagged Jonathon Bennet much the same all those twenty years ago.

“You know Mr. Bennet told me everything? All the dirty... Disgusting things you did to him...” King purred, leaning closer now, arching his back to push his face beneath Turner’s, tilting his chin up so he could maintain eye contact no matter how far the priest bowed his head. “Do you know how many times he’s tried to kill himself? Well, do you? _Father?_ ” King spat the word through a whisper, grinning again, his eyes alight with excitement and as Turner stared at him he realised with a lurching stomach that King was _enjoying_ this.

“Mmph! Mmmm!” 

“Shh shh shh...” King purred, laying a finger over the priest’s covered lips and stepping back a touch. Turner looked up at him on instinct, tears still dripping down his reddened cheeks. “How many children have you had Father Turner?” King asked softly, his voice a whisper still, laced with a dangerous edge that could only be described as seductive. 

Turner began to shake his head, trying to deny the allegations put against him even though he knew it was useless. He couldn’t speak to try and convince this mad man that what he had been told were all lies, and even if he could it was obvious he wouldn’t believe him. King _knew_. He knew what Turner had been doing for forty years in this church and now he was here to torment him. Turner had no idea if he was going to escape this ordeal dead or alive, but as he looked into King’s blazing sapphire eyes he found he wasn’t even sure which he wanted himself.

“You know, I think you would have liked me as a child.” King grinned, stepping forward again and dropping down to straddle the priest’s thighs, legs hanging either side of the chair. Immediately, Turner tensed, his muscles contracting tightly as his blood ran cold. He stared at King with fearful eyes, confusion washing through him and making his head spin. His heart was starting to pound so erratically it hurt and he felt breathless, convinced he was going to suffocate on his gag at any moment. He desperately wanted to ask the younger man what he was doing, why he was starting to gently caress his face.

“I was a very cute boy.” King continued, his voice still soft but louder than a whisper now. Long, delicate fingers were brushing the tears off the priest’s face, feigning kindness but anyone could have seen the murderous intent shining in his eyes. “I had big eyes, like this –” King opened his eyes wide, his long lashes helping the priest to imagine him as a child as those blue eyes dazzled him. “Perfectly soft lips, can you imagine?” King’s mouth opened as wide as his eyes and the priest flushed a deeper shade of red as shame coursed through him. He shook his hips, trying to throw King off him, but he was firmly seated in his lap.

“You would have wanted me,” King said confidently, nodding his head as he smiled innocently at the old man. “I can tell.”

“Mmm!” Turner began shaking his head again, though his actions had weakened considerably and it was clear he was starting to give up on trying to fight through this and was prepared to simply sit and see what happened. Whoever this man was there was nothing Turner could do to outfight him, he was simply at his mercy and could only hope that he proved to be forgiving.

“But like I said, I never went to church as a boy.” King picked up on the thread of conversation that Turner had almost all but forgotten by now. His long fingers were toying with the priest’s collar now, his thumb smoothing over the white tag in the centre, his eyes focused on it. “But if I had... I know I would have been abused too.” He whispered, his tone serious. He let his words hang in the air for a moment, as solid as a tonne of bricks, just waiting to fall and crush Turner beneath them. He was stunned however, when King looked up to meet his eyes again, and he saw amusement shining in his expression. He was clearly trying to look serious, his lips parted and eyebrows raised in mock horror, but the truth of his emotions were only too obvious.

“You would have loved me.” King breathed, and for a blinding moment Turner thought he saw tears in the younger man’s eyes, the way he shook his head slowly along with his whispered words giving the impression that he was disappointed. But disappointed over what? That he had never been a child in Turner’s congregation? That he had never felt his sinful touch?

“I would have loved you too... There’s something truly beautiful in murder as a child.” King’s voice was venomous again, just like that; words dipped in poison and wrapped up in razors. His eyes were blazing again and his face twisted into a sneer of disgust, his teeth bared. “I would have LOVED to have stood over your body as a child... As a TEN YEAR OLD BOY just DRIPPING in your blood.” His voice dipped low and then flung up high into shouts, fluctuating over and over so that Turner couldn’t keep up. He was growing tenser now, more from the strange cocktail of soft and harsh words than the actual words themselves. 

“But never fear,” King continued, his hand slipping beneath the collar of his clothes. “I have a very good imagination... We’ll just make believe that I’m ten okay sweetheart?” He cooed, drawing something from under his dark shirt. 

Turner’s eyes grew wide as he saw the shining handle of the gun sliding past King’s dog collar and he began to panic, shaking and rocking back and forth in his chair in a desperate attempt to get free. King only grinned at him, pressing his free hand to the back of the chair and holding on tight, riding Turner’s hips like a rodeo so that he didn’t get thrown off. 

It didn’t take too long before Turner was too exhausted to do much more, though he still sobbed frantically. His lungs felt as though they were squeezing, closing up in fear. He had never felt so panicked in all his life and he couldn’t think straight. He wished desperately that he could speak, could scream... but he was helpless. All he could do was pray frantically in his head and beg for forgiveness; beg for mercy; beg for his life.

“I want you to picture Jonathon Bennet, okay Father?” King sneered, his voice louder now and he smirked as he slammed the barrel of the gun between the priest’s eyes. Turner shook his head frantically but the gun moved with him, never slipping from its position. “I want his face to be the last thing you see... The last thing you EVER think about. Think about HIM and how BEAUTIFUL you thought he looked beneath you!”

Turner squeezed his eyes shut, sobbing and attempting to scream through his gag, expecting the bullet to come right that moment. But it seemed King wasn’t done with him just yet. The hand on the back of the chair had moved and was now stroking against his cheek, caressing his jaw so gently that it made the priest’s skin crawl.

“But don’t get me wrong Father...” King sighed, gazing at Turner through his eyelashes, giving his face a soft, seductive look. Turner’s eyes grew wide, he wanted to look away... but he found himself transfixed. “I’m not here to tell you you’re sick, or that you’re wrong, or that I think you’re the scum of the Earth.” King was smiling to himself now, as if he was thinking of something completely unrelated. As if he was imagining his next holiday or something. “I am simply here, because I get paid to be here.” 

Turner’s eyes grew wide, his face a picture of surprise even with the gag tightly in place. He wasn’t sure he understood, all he knew was that he could sense the end nearing. It was in subtle details... the way King shifted in his lap, the new gleam that came into his eyes, the way he pushed the gun with more force to Turner’s forehead... 

“Mrrmm!”

“You are simply my client.” King continued, his face growing serious again, almost dazed, as if he wasn’t sure how he had got here. “And I am your puppet. And I have come here, just to play God.” 

King’s grin came back... spreading slowly across his face, like a Cheshire cat in slow motion. His finger tensed on the trigger of his gun and he smiled darkly to himself, closing his eyes and sucking in another sigh of pleasure as the priest began to rock and scream again, sobbing and trying to shout through the gag as the sounds of the church bells ringing for mass began to resonate through the room. The noise was like a crescendo of screams, tearing through their eardrums so loudly the gun shot couldn’t be heard as King pulled back the trigger.

The rocking ceased.


	2. Da Vinci, Shakespeare, God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem with becoming the client of a paid killer, is that they can get pretty picky with the information they desire.

The bells for mass were still ringing as King exited the church, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and whipping out the white tab of his collar as he struggled to hide his grin. People were walking past him into the church, but no one paid him any attention. He was like a ghost, slipping by unseen, his presence hardly registered.

There was a dark car waiting for King as he exited the churchyard and stepped onto the street. The car was hardly subtle, an all black Daimler regency with tinted windows and a personal driver. The car was receiving looks of great interest from passersby, but King was barely spared a glance as he opened the door to the back and slid onto the leather seat.

King didn’t have to say anything to the driver as he settled back and laid his arm across the back of the seat, smirking smugly to himself as the car pulled away from the kerb and made its way down the road. People watched it as it passed, but King was safely hidden behind tinted glass. Not that anyone would have noticed him anyway. The good thing about having a flash car was that people rarely remembered the men inside.

“How long did I take?” King asked curiously once they had been driving for a few minutes. He had grown bored of looking out the window and examining his nails, so he turned his attention to the elderly man driving him.

“About twenty five minutes sir.”

“Mm... Not bad.” King mused. It wasn’t the fastest he had killed someone, but then you shouldn’t rush art. “I suppose no one seemed suspicious that anything was going on inside the church?” He asked, nodding when the driver assured him all was well.

“People were more interested in the car I think sir.” He said softly, his voice smooth and strong despite his clear age. He was well into sixties, though King had never thought to ask him his actual age. He didn’t know his birthday, and the man didn’t know his either. Though the driver was the closest thing King had to any real family. 

“Always the way.” King purred, sliding his hand along the leather of the backseat, admiring its shine. The car was always kept in pristine condition, King may have been a killer but he wasn’t a slob, not that he was ever the one to actually clean the car. “People are so easy to predict... so _boring_. Sometimes I almost wish they’d notice, make things more interesting...” King went back to examining his nails, sighing to himself as the driver glanced at him in the rear view mirror.

“I hope they don’t notice sir.” He said gently, meeting King’s gaze through the glass for a moment. “If you were ever caught by the police I don’t know what I’d do.” 

“The police won’t catch _me_.” King sneered, drawing out the word ‘me’ in a sing-song voice. “I’m better than them. I’m better than anyone.” He purred, his voice low and dreamy, as if he was talking to himself. “I can outsmart them any day. They’ll never find any evidence to attach me to the murders.” He sighed, turning his head to look out the window again, drawing the discussion to a close.

King may have had a flair for the dramatics, he may have come across as not entirely sane, but he was a smart man. Some might say he was even too smart. He knew every trick there was when it came to getting rid of evidence, he knew the perfect balance of hiding things where no one would find them and yet also hiding things in plain sight. He had been killing people since he was thirteen years old, and animals before then, and he had never once been caught.

It would be wrong however to say that King was a murderer. Though he killed people it wasn’t due to any animosity he held. He supposed if he ever was caught and taken to a court of law then he’d be convicted under premeditated murder, but what he did was so much more complex than simple murder. So much more _beautiful_.

King was an artist. He didn’t make art with paints and a brush like other artists, he didn’t make sculptures or collage or sketches. He made art with blood and bodies, and words whispered in the final moments of another person’s life; in that crystal clear moment when death fell over a victim like a shroud and King got to see the life drain from their eyes. He was Da Vinci; he was Shakespeare; he was God.

“I believe you have another client sir.” King looked over with minimal interest as the car rolled smoothly up a long driveway to a small manor house, a stranger’s car sat in the driveway.

The manor was set some distance from the main town, surrounded by land and trees hundreds of years old. The property had once belonged to a wealthy, British family, but when King had acquired it, it had been falling into disrepair. Nobody had wanted it or saw the potential in it, he had bought the rights to the land just weeks before the house was due to be demolished and within five years the place had been restored to its original glory. 

People rarely came by this way, the house was believed to be haunted and only teenagers looking for a fright had held any interest in it. Now that it was clean and furnished and had a person living in it no one so much as stepped foot on the surrounding land let alone made the long walk up the drive to the front door. That is... No one who didn’t have business with the owner.

“I’m going to change my clothes.” King drawled slowly in his soft, deep voice. “Keep my client busy until I am ready for him. Twenty minutes should suffice.” The car by now had come to a stop and King ever so slowly turned to open the door and slide out onto the gravel of the driveway. 

“Of course sir.” The driver also exited the Daimler, but unlike King he did not head for the house but instead made his way instantly over to the small blue car waiting some feet away. A man was still sat in the driver’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He was staring straight forward, and even through the windows it was obvious he was clenching his teeth. Clients often came to them in this state, or worse. Very few ever arrived composed.

“Excuse me sir.” King’s driver knocked gently on the window of the blue car, smiling in a friendly way at the man inside when his head jerked over to look at him. “Can I help you?” 

For a long moment the man in the blue car was perfectly still, just gazing with wide eyes at the elderly man and feeling his heart race. He had been hesitant about coming here ever since the idea had first come into his mind, and in that moment he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. He considered just ignoring the driver outside his car and instead just starting the engine and driving away from the manor before anything else could happen. But when he glanced at the keys still dangling in the ignition he found he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Summoning his courage the man instead turned to his door and slowly, ever so slowly, pushed it open. He bit his lip as he gazed with frightened eyes up at the Daimler driver, slowly stepping out onto the driveway and pressing his back against his car immediately after closing the door. 

“I – I’m here to see K – King?” He didn’t mean for the words to come out like a question but somehow they did. The elderly man smiled comfortingly at him though, helping to dispel some of the younger mans nerves.

“Of course. I help Mr King manage his clients, if you would like to follow me into the house then Mr King will see you presently.” King’s driver smiled sweetly at the nervous man and turned to lead the way into the house, the man following him slowly, looking hesitant still. 

As they approached the steps to the veranda the younger man glanced nervously at the side of the driver’s face, biting his lip. “Thank you.” He offered quietly, getting no response. “What’s your name?”

“You may call me Mr Hunter.” The driver, Hunter, smiled at the client. “And what may I call you?”

“Uh, my name is Matt.” The man responded, looking nervously at Hunter as they stepped up to the door of the manor and Matt was led inside. The entrance hall was spacious with a red carpeted stairway to the left, leading up to the second floor where a line of doors could be seen. Matt tried to imagine how many rooms this house had, but he didn’t dare ask as Hunter continued walking down a hallway to the right. 

“Are you and Mr King the only people who live here?” He asked quietly, gazing around with wide eyes. He lived in a tiny, mould infested apartment and he found it hard to imagine ever having enough money to live in a place like this. How did people ever get that rich?

“More or less.” Hunter’s reply confused Matt but he didn’t ask him to explain. He blushed, sensing perhaps he wasn’t expected to make conversation with the quiet driver. He kept silent from then on, following the elderly man to the kitchen where he quietly declined the offer of a drink. 

“Mr King will only be a moment. I shall return to collect you when he is ready to see you.” Hunter said lightly, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked tall and foreboding in his black suit and drivers cap, but Matt summoned up a shaky smile and nodded before the man left the room.

Once Hunter had gone Matt sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a hand over them and forcing himself to take a deep breath. He felt like he was in out of his depth but he couldn’t leave. He had promised himself he would get revenge for what had happened to him and if this was the only way to do it then so be it.

Sitting alone in the kitchen time dragged for the young man, too afraid to move or touch anything in case he wasn’t allowed to. The whole place looked pristine and modern, like a show home. The kitchen didn’t look as though it had ever even been used and it made Matt feel even more self conscious over his grubby blue jeans and creased t-shirt. He wished he had had the forethought to dress nicely, but then he hadn’t really imagined a paid killer would care about his clients’ appearance. 

Matt sighed and glanced out the kitchen window, at the view outside of a large back garden which was separated from the surrounding trees and fields by nothing more than a small picket fence. Matt imagined the surrounding land was owned by Mr King too and he found himself wondering again how anyone could be this successful. Matt had a job, it wasn’t anything exciting or particularly well paid, but he got more than minimum wage and saved as much as he could and he was still only just scraping by. 

“Mr King will see you now.” Matt jumped and turned away from the kitchen window with a small blush, Hunter was back and stood in the doorway with a somewhat bored smile playing about his lips. He had removed his drivers cap but he was still wearing his suit and white gloves. 

“Oh, uh right. Thanks.” Matt blushed even more as he hurried to the doorway, Hunter turning slowly on his heel and keeping silent as he began to stride back down along the hallway he had originally brought James down. The younger man followed him closely, tripping slightly over his own feet due to nerves. His heart had started to race and he felt breathless at the thought of meeting King. He couldn’t imagine what he was going to be like or how he should act around him and that frightened him more than anything.

Hunter was silent as he led Matt up the stair case in the entrance hall to the second floor. He turned left down the upper landing, walking past every door until he came to the very last one. He didn’t so much as look at Matt before rapping his knuckles sharply against the wood of the door, barely a second passing before a soft, smooth voice bid them enter. 

“Go on.” Hunter pressed a hand between Matt’s shoulder blades, opening the door for him and nudging him inside before the younger man could consider turning and leaving. He stumbled inside with a blush, his heart jumping to his throat as he set eyes on King for the first time.

Matt found himself in a study like room, with a mahogany desk and three leather seats, one behind the desk and two infront. A large bookcase dominated the space, covering the whole of the back wall and stocked full of antique books. The dark grey carpet was thick and plush and it felt soft to Matt even through his battered old trainers. King himself was stood beside the desk, one of the books open in his hands though he snapped it shut with a grin when he looked at Matt.

“Come in, come in.” He purred in that deep, sing song voice of his. “Hunter tells me your name is Matt?” King smiled warmly but turned quickly to place the book back into the bookcase, filling the only gap. 

“I... Yes.” Matt answered quietly, walking slowly across the room until he was stood behind the two leather chairs infront of the desk. He felt like he ought to say more, but no words came to mind. He didn’t know how these situations were supposed to go. Should he just launch straight into why he was here? What did other people do?

“Are you... Mr King?” He finally asked, his cheeks still tinged a light pink. King turned to look at him with a smirk, his eyes sparkling and Matt felt his heart jump in his chest. There was something about the well dressed man, something hidden behind his friendly expression and expensive suit that made Matt’s skin crawl. His eyes were full of amusement, and yet at the same time they held a sort of detachment. Matt got the distinct feeling that the man he was stood in the room with was the most dangerous man he had ever met, and Matt had met some very dangerous men.

“Oh please, just call me King.” King smirked, gesturing for Matt to sit down in one of the chairs as he sat down in the one behind the desk. He perched daintily on the end of his seat, perfectly manicured hands resting interlinked on top of the desk. He grinned at Matt the whole time he awkwardly pulled out one of the heavy chairs and sat down, spending a moment trying to subtly pull the chair forward closer to the desk before eventually giving up with a heated blush on his cheeks when he discovered he just didn’t have the strength.

“So,” King finally spoke up again after he and Matt had both sat perfectly still and silent for a few seconds. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Matt raised his eyebrows, gazing up at King from where his head was slightly bowed. He had his arms wrapped around his stomach and he was picking at the sides of his shirt. He felt nervous, completely out of his comfort zone, and he found himself lost as to where to begin. What had brought him here? He suddenly felt like his reasons were idiotic and he didn’t want to say them to this handsome, intimidating man.

“Well?” King pushed after growing bored of waiting for Matt to speak. “How can I help you?” He asked more plainly, frowning as he leant forward. 

“I... I heard that you...”

“Kill people?” King smirked, tilting his head to the side and smirking at the young man shaking across from him. “You heard correct. Now stop quivering and tell me who it is you want me to dispose of.” King’s voice had dropped down into a low purr, Matt imagined it was supposed to sound tempting but it came across as threatening. 

“I... Th – There’s a man... A man who... He ruined my life.” Matt’s voice cut off, choked in his throat and he had to take a deep breath, shaking more visibly now as tears burnt in his eyes. “I want him dead.” 

“Naturally.” King drawled, resisting the urge to examine his nails and show just how bored he really was. It was just the same old story. Every client he ever had were all the same. Their stories had their differences, but ultimately they all viewed themselves as the innocent, and it was King’s task to rid them of the evil villain in their life. King found it ridiculous that all these people came to him believing their story was something special, something _different_. They were all just the same.

“So, this man you want dead, where do I find him?” King asked in a monotone, looking at Matt with no expression on his face. The younger man looked up at him with still frightened eyes, though to King’s amusement he seemed to grow offended when he realised how disinterested King was.

“This man killed my parents.” Matt snapped, his heart racing but some of his fear was getting taken over with frustration. “I was six years old and he left me an _orphan_.” He snarled, a lump in his throat, King just continuing to stare at him with a bored expression. 

Matt had spent his whole life having to face the fact that no one would understand what he had been through. Anyone he had trusted enough to tell the truth to had thought he was lying, or had simply not known how to react and so would disappear from his life quickly. He had been forced to move from foster home to foster home until he turned eighteen, all the time being haunted by nightmares of the night his parents died. 

“I promised myself I would never forget that man’s face.” Matt continued, his voice softer now. His hands were still shaking as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “I won’t rest until I know he’s dead.” 

King looked over with minimal interest as Matt unfolded the paper and slid it across the desk towards him. King made no effort to touch it, though he craned his neck to look at the image drawn across it. It was a crude sketch, made in pencil and then gone over in black biro. King imagined it was supposed to be a sketch of the killer, but it posed little help to him.

“His face is unimportant to me.” He drawled, glancing at Matt through his lashes. “Tell me where to find him, and then we can start discussing prices.”

“I don’t know where to find him.” Matt sighed, frowning. “I haven’t seen him since I was a child.”

“Really?” King purred, rolling his eyes. “Then indulge me, how on earth do you imagine I am going to find him? He could have left the country for all you know, hell he may already be _dead_. I am a _killer_ Matthew, I _kill_ people. I don’t find them, I _kill_ them, do you understand what I’m saying?” 

Matt blushed, bowing his head and clenching his fists for a moment. He felt like King was patronising him, just like everybody else in his life and he glared up at him again. 

“I was told you could help me.”

“I don’t help people.” King shrugged, his voice low and bored. “I kill people.” King rose to his feet, smoothing out imaginary creases in his suit before making his way to the door. He turned to face Matt again once he reached it, laying his hand on the door knob and quirking an eyebrow at the younger man. “If you can find your man then by all means, come back and let me know.” He smiled sweetly, Matt’s face falling as he slowly rose to his feet.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to... Kick me out?” He asked stiffly, trying not to let his disappointment and hurt show through in his voice. He was conscious of the fact people always saw him as being weak and naive, and he certainly didn’t want a paid killer to think that about him.

“As I have said, there is nothing more I can do to help you.” King shrugged, his voice sickly sweet. “As such there is no reason for you to dwell here. Unless you were expecting me to ask you to stay for tea?” 

Matt blushed and scowled at the sarcasm, wrapping his arms tighter around himself as he sighed and gave a short, sharp nod of his head. 

“Right. Well uh... Fine. Right. I’ll just be off then.” He mumbled, striding to the door as King smiled and opened it for him. Matt hesitated just before he could step through it, turning his gaze onto King again for a second and feeling his stomach lurch. Even through his sweet smile he could see King was a man to fear. 

“Is there... Is there nothing you can do?” Matt asked quietly, feeling frightened just to ask. “Anyone you could put me in contact with perhaps? Someone who could help?”

“Afraid not.” King answered without giving it a moment’s thought, turning to give Matt a helpful shove through the door. “I’m sure you remember your way out. Good luck catching your man.” He practically sang, grinning as he twirled gracefully , slamming the door shut at the same time before walking back to his desk with Matt now safely out of the room.

Outside in the hallway Matt was stood staring at the closed door with tears brimming in his eyes. He scoffed and turned away, feeling humiliated and angry. The sensation of water burning in his eyes embarrassed him and he took a deep breath to try and compose as he made his way slowly back towards the stair case. 

The feeling of disappointment that gripped him felt suffocating, his lungs squeezing and his throat growing tight. He had been so certain that if he could just summon the courage to come here then he would finally get the revenge he had been hoping for... This outcome he had never even considered. When he had heard about King’s services he’d had no idea he’d have to actually know where his parent’s killer was, and now that he did a wave of hopelessness washed over him. 

Matt didn’t know why his parents had been killed, he clung to the hope that their killer had just been a stranger who had come into their home and killed them for no real reason. He had had it suggested to him by the few people he had told that perhaps the killer had known his parents. Maybe they had been involved with people they shouldn’t have, maybe they owed someone money... It was a theory Matt had always strongly denied. Though the memories he had of his parents were few and vague he knew they were good people and he wouldn’t consider anything that would ruin that for him. But as he walked to his car outside King’s house he knew he would now have no choice but to consider everything if he was ever going to find their killer.

Matt sighed as he slid into his car, putting the key into the ignition but not starting it yet. He gazed through the windshield at the manor, wondering about King and trying to work him out. The man was strange... Dangerous, that much was obvious. But Matt wondered if there was more to him than that, he seemed to have a theatrical flair to how he acted, but maybe that was just a front. Matt had been psychoanalysed so much through his life he found he did it himself to most people without even meaning to, and as he reluctantly drove away from King’s home his mind was spinning with the amount of theories and thoughts surrounding the strange man Matt had just met.

Back at the manor King was watching the blue car reverse down his driveway. He was frowning to himself, resting his hand on the wall beside the window and tapping his fingers slowly. In his other hand he was holding the sketch Matt had left on his desk. He had examined it more closely now the younger man had left, but he was sure he didn’t know the person depicted in pen. He was sure he would be able to find out who they were easily though.

King hummed quietly to himself and turned away from the window, walking to his desk and opening one of the drawers. He took a pin out of a small box inside and then strolled to the wall, gazing at it for a moment before suddenly lunging forward and stabbing the pin through the drawing and into the wall behind it. He stood back afterwards and straightened his tie, staring at the drawing for just a moment longer before he turned and left the room.

He got the feeling he would be seeing Matt again very soon.


	3. Pretty in pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When someone needs to be found the underworld is always the best place to start.

Matt threw his keys down onto the kitchen counter and turned to switch on the cheap electric kettle that had come with the apartment. He moved to place his elbows down on the counter and then laid his head in his hands, running his fingers through his dirty blonde hair and squeezing his eyes shut with a quiet groan.

The drive home had been tedious; Matt had been unable to stop running the conversation he had had with King through his head. He felt as if even the tiny scrap of hope he had been clinging to for so many years had just been torn away from him and now he had no other option than to face the fact that his parents killer would never be brought to justice. That he himself would never feel peace.

Matt’s fingers tightened in his hair, gripping hard and tugging slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the sound of the kettle boiling rather than his own thoughts. He was trying not to let his hopelessness grip him, but it was difficult when he knew that unless he found his parents killer himself then all hope really was lost. How was he supposed to be able to find the killer? He didn’t know how he could even begin to go about doing that. He had already had to liaison with less than savoury people in order to find King, he couldn’t bear to think who he might have to meet in order to find his parents killer.

Matt slumped more against the counter, losing energy in his limbs from despair. He had been so sure that King would help him, but just have to been shot down in flames... Matt just didn’t feel like he could cope anymore. 

The switch on the kettle clicked loudly and almost immediately after the sound of the water bubbling died away. Matt stayed leaning against the side for a while longer, trying to force himself to move and make a drink. He felt even lonelier now that the noise of the kettle was gone, the apartment felt colder than ever and so empty. Matt almost wished that he wasn’t so anti social then, living alone was a blessing at times, but more often than not now a days it just got him down. 

With a deep sigh Matt finally turned to pour the boiling water into a mug over instant coffee granules before turning to the fridge. He opened the door and pulled a face at how pathetically empty it was, nothing more than a half full jug of milk, some rather limp looking lettuce and a small block of cheese inside. The cheese was probably going mouldy if Matt dared to examine it, but for now he ignored it in favour of grabbing the milk and sniffing that instead. It didn’t seem to be off yet and so he poured a generous glug into his coffee before returning it to the fridge.

As he walked through to the living room Matt wondered whether he should get a pet. He had spent his whole life thinking obsessively about his parents killer and how much he wanted him dead, he had never dared to form any real sort of relationship with anyone and he was starting to regret it. Perhaps a dog or a cat being there to greet him when he got home would make things a little better. Perhaps all he really needed was some company to get him over what had happened all those years ago. After all, he was twenty six now; he really shouldn’t be harbouring such a grudge. He could barely even remember his parents if he was being honest with himself. 

Flicking on the TV just for background noise Matt settled down into the battered old couch and cradled his coffee mug to his chest, holding it over is heart so that it warmed up his skin through the fabric of his t-shirt. He stared blankly at the television screen, trying to take in what was showing on it but his mind was turning to King no matter how hard he tried not to let it.

King... What was he to make of King? Though they had met for such a short moment no one had made such a lasting first impression on Matt. It wasn’t so much what King had said or done, but a sort of aura that seemed to cling to him that made Matt shudder at just the thought of him. But it wasn’t entirely fear... there was an undercurrent of respect and excitement, a sort of strange admiration for the handsome man who had so cruelly shot Matt down. Matt knew that if anyone could help him then it was King... He just had to find a way to persuade him to offer his services.

Matt considered everything King had said to him as he tapped his fingers on the side of his mug and stared blankly at the TV. King had made it very clear that he was not about to make any attempt to find the man who had killed Matt’s parents, and Matt knew already he wouldn’t be able to find him himself. He had nothing more than his sketches from memory to aid him and that was clearly getting him nowhere. But King had said that he would kill the man if Matt could tell him where he was...

There was a clock ticking on the wall above the TV and when Matt glanced at it he felt his heart start to race to see it was only just early evening. In order to find King Matt had had to venture into some of the seedier parts of town to talk to people about finding an assassin. He was sure that if he returned to those places someone might know of a person who could find his man. Although the shady characters Matt had talked to had frightened him greatly he was more than willing to face them again if it meant getting the revenge he felt he so deserved. 

The men of the underworld, as Matt called them, were twisted, manipulative men who made their livings off dodgy dealings and carrying out dark requests. Matt didn’t know any of them by name, or even by face; getting in contact with men like that had to be done through whispers and shadows. It was all ‘I know a friend of a friend of a friend’ type dealings, no one ever put themselves on the line and no one ever revealed anything that could hint towards their identity. Matt didn’t mind too much, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to talk personally to any of those people or see their faces. Though his contact with King was making him question it slightly... Why was King, the ultimate killer, so prepared to talk to people himself in plain daylight in his very own home? It was just another question to add to the many that Matt was accumulating over the man.

Matt knew that no one who could help him would be available to find until much later, when most people were in bed and the only ones left wandering the streets were gangsters, drunkards and the homeless. That gave him a few hours to mentally prepare himself and also to shower and change. He would have to wear dark clothing so that he too could blend in with the shadows; he knew from experience no one would talk to him if he was easily seen in case any witnesses should be passing by.

Deciding that going back to the underworld was the only option he had left, Matt downed his coffee in one go and slammed the mug down on the stained coffee table infront of him. He jumped to his feet and strode straight to the bathroom, determined not to let his nerves dessert him as they so often did when faced with the terrifying task of talking to the men of the underworld. He would not let his hopes fade away so easily. He would not let King simply turn him away and forget about him. He would find someone who could help him, and then once he had found the location of his parent’s killer he would return to King and arrange the revenge he coveted.

XXX

“You called sir?” 

King was stood in his office, facing the sketch he had pinned to the wall with his arms resting behind his back. For a moment he acted as if he hadn’t heard Hunter, but eventually he turned slowly to face him with an expressionless gaze. He had been thinking a lot since Matt had left the house, and as much as he didn’t like to admit it, his curiosity was piqued.

“I want you to go out and fetch Mr Futrelle for me.” He told Hunter in his cool, soft voice. “Bring him here... I have a need to talk with him.” King turned to face the sketch again, lazily waving his hand at Hunter to indicate he should go. Hunter bowed his head respectfully though King didn’t see, and then left the room without another word.

King often had Hunter do jobs such as this. He was more than his chauffer, he was his messenger and his confidant and, Hunter supposed, probably the only thing close to a friend that King had. He had met King when he was little more than sixteen years old, by then he had already been killing people for a fee and he had enough money to tempt Hunter into his services within minutes. At the time Hunter had been in desperate need of a job and hadn’t expected to stay working for King for long; but oddly he had come to enjoy working for the teenager and as the years went by Hunter felt a sort of loyalty to the young man and knew now he would never leave his side.

Picking up the Daimler’s keys from where he left them in a small dish in the hall, Hunter pulled on his white driver’s gloves and picked up his black hat before making his way outside to the car.

Mr Futrelle was a man that King often conferred with. He was the head of a large gang that operated within the centre of the city, and if there was anyone in the underworld you needed to find he was the man to go to. Futrelle didn’t much like King, and often tried to refuse meeting with him, but the two men had a past and King never let him forget that he owed him. Hunter had only been unable to make him come to the house once, and after three of Futrelle’s best men ‘mysteriously disappeared’ the problem never arose again. 

As the Daimler disappeared down the driveway King stood watching it from his study window. His face was a mask of calm but his thoughts was running rampant in his head. Who was the man in the sketch and why had he killed Matt’s parents? Had he spared Matt at the time for being a child or had he simply not seen him? Was he some sort of mobster or was he just an everyday killer? Where was he now? All of these questions did not plague King, they _inspired_ him. He enjoyed his job and took great pleasure in what he did, but he rarely had a client that raised questions like these. Though they were not in any way unique, they were the sort of questions police had to deal with often, King rarely bothered with them.

King considered himself to be something of a genius. He had always enjoyed learning and things like puzzles and brainteasers entertained him for a time. Being able to murder as he did without getting caught was no easy feat, and his greatest secret was how he managed to carry out his job without leaving behind any traces that could lead back to him. No one had dared asked him how he did it, people simply knew he would never reveal his answers. Not even Hunter knew King’s tricks.

Now though he had been effectively killing without evidence for years and he was growing bored again. He still enjoyed the killing, but he longed for a client who brought something new to the table. Matt’s story may have been no different to many King had heard before, and though the fact he had come to him without even knowing his target’s where abouts was infuriating, King couldn’t let such an opportunity pass him by. He had no doubt he would be able to find Matt’s parents killer with ease, and it posed a puzzle that should keep him occupied for a small amount of time. At least until another client presented themselves; it would certainly be more interesting than lounging around the house waiting for something to happen.

King turned away from the window and smirked as he sauntered across the room to stand before the sketch again. He gazed into the black biro eyes and let a slow grin split his features. He raised a hand to the drawing and rubbed his thumb over one of the eyes to smudge the ink in a long, drawn out circle whilst singing “I’m gonna get you...”

XXX

The air was frigid as Matt walked down the street, pulling his jacket tighter around himself and hunching up his shoulders against the wind. It was late now, well past midnight and the streets were deserted. 

Matt had left his house some time ago, walking into the centre of the city so that he didn’t risk getting his car seen. Though it was highly unlikely that anyone would be following him or that the police would see his car and trace it back to him for dealing with mobsters he still didn’t want to run the risk; and the men he was going to see wouldn’t appreciate him driving either.

Matt’s heart felt as though it were in his throat as he walked steadily down the street, keeping to the shadows and staring down at his feet for the most part. There was a large part of him that wanted nothing more than to turn back and go back home; dealing with the men of the underworld was never a good experience and after what he had been through with King that day he wasn’t sure he could handle anymore intimidation. His nerves were shot and he was dying for a drink; but somehow he managed to force himself to keep walking and not look back.

Once he had reached the city centre Matt started to turn down side streets and weave his way round the back of buildings and down alleys where people never ventured to go. The wind was louder here, whistling as it blew between buildings and causing Matt to shudder as paranoia gripped him. The deeper he walked through the alleys the darker it became; there were no street lamps here, only the light from the moon shining between the buildings but on cloudy nights like this there was practically no light to see by and the sensation of being watched grew stronger and stronger.

Matt resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder and quickened his pace. He knew that no one would be around this area; he had to go further still before he had any hope of finding anyone. 

It was another ten minutes before he reached a small clearing. There was an alley stretching on before him and a large building to his left. The building had long been abandoned, its windows and doors boarded up. Matt thought it might have been a school or a library once, before other buildings were built around it, but that was just his own speculation. Either way it now served as an entrance to what he considered the underworld of the city. There was a small gap at the side of the building that ran down the length of a fence, and it was by walking through there that the door to a basement could be found. It was in this basement that Matt believed different men of the underworld would meet up on certain nights.

Matt had never been to the basement, there was always someone keeping watch in the shadows to ensure anyone who wasnt part of the underworld didn’t get in there. Matt had been here only a few times before, but he was always able to find someone to talk to whenever he ventured towards the building.

Tonight would be no different. 

“Hey you.” Matt jumped and turned in the direction of the voice. He had been making a beeline for the gap down the side of the building when the person had spoke, and when Matt turned he saw the orange flicker of a match held to a cigarette. There was a man stood in the shadow of the boarded up doorway, Matt had looked there and hadn’t even seen him.

“You’re that guy who keeps coming here aren’t you?” Matt couldn’t see the face of the man who spoke, but he recognised his thick London accent from a previous visit. “What you after now eh?” 

“I... I need to speak to someone...” Matt said as strongly as he could, clenching his fists and straightening his back in an attempt to martial his confidence and not let his voice waver. “I need to find someone, and I was hoping one of your bosses could help me.”

“Bosses?” The other man chuckled, spitting onto the floor before sauntering out from the doorway so that he could be seen more clearly. In the darkness his features were still difficult to make out, but Matt could now see the outline of his body. He wore black clothes, as was expected, and had a flat cap pulled low over his eyes. The glow of his cigarette caused large shadows to appear beneath his facial features, making him look eerie as he grinned at Matt. “I only have one boss.”

“I’d like to talk to him.” Matt held his head up high, his body tense as he tried to sound like he knew what he was doing. Even though he had been here before he was never entirely sure what to expect or how to behave. 

The smoking man leant his weight onto one hip and cocked his head to the side as he observed Matt silently. For a while he ignored his request and simply smoked his cigarette as he looked at him in the darkness, his brows knitted into a frown. He knew nothing of Matt except his face and that he had been here before. He didn’t know why he came here, but he was obviously no one important or the man would have been told something about him. It was clear he came here without being invited thinking he could just chat with a mobster whenever he pleased.

“Why?” The man finally asked, his tone scathing. Matt blushed under his hard gaze and shuffled his feet awkwardly, his heart racing.

“I just need to talk to him.” He replied with a shrug, trying to appear non chalant but it was clear this man wasn’t going to make things easy for him.

“Why don’t you tell me why you wanna talk to him, and I’ll tell you if he’s interested.” The man replied immediately, still leaning on one hip. He raised his cigarette to his chapped lips and took a long drag as he waited for Matt to respond. 

“I...” Matt hesitated, his nerves almost deserting him as he considered just turning and walking away. But he wasn’t entirely sure this man would let him just disappear so he stayed facing him, clenching and unclenching his fists as he took a deep breath to calm himself. He wasn’t exactly after anything secret so he saw no harm in explaining why he was here, he just hadn’t been expecting to have to explain himself. 

“I’m looking for the man who killed my parents. I know what he looks like, but I have no idea where he might be. I thought here might be a good place to start asking around for him.” He eventually spat out, his body so tense now that his muscles were aching. He forced himself to hold the gaze of the smoking man, who’s eyebrows had raised in surprise at his words.

“Is that so?” He drawled, his accent even stronger when he spoke around the cigarette between his lips. “You got a picture of him?” 

“A drawing.” Matt nodded, jumping to action in his eagerness for help. Perhaps this man would be able to help him and he wouldn’t even have to speak to his boss. His hands shook as he quickly pulled open his jacket and fumbled in the inner pocket for the drawing he had folded inside. “I just... Uh, it’s here somewhere um... Ah! Here.” Matt seized the paper and whipped it into site, stepping forward anxiously as he smoothed out the creases gently and then handed it to the other man. “That’s how he looked about twenty years ago, I haven’t seen him since then. I had to draw it from memory but I’m sure it’s pretty accurate...” Matt’s voice was soft, hopeful, trailing off as he gazed intently at the smoking man as he gazed at the drawing with some curiosity.

The smoking man was silent for a long moment, just staring at the paper in his hand and taking it all in. He was more interested in his smoking than the drawing, but he pretended otherwise. For a good while he didn’t speak, he waited until Matt was practically shaking with anticipation before looking up at him and thrusting the paper back into his hand. 

“Nope. Sorry, don’t know him.” He announced, popping the ‘p’ on nope and turning to walk back to the doorway he had been standing in before. Matt watched him with a stunned expression, his heart racing ever faster as he clutched his drawing and shook his head.

“What? Are you sure?” He gasped, hurrying forward after the man. “Please I really need to find this man. If you could just talk to your boss, let me show him the drawing I could –”

“Listen man, I can’t help you.” The other man scoffed, rounding on Matt and letting his cigarette butt drop so that it fell onto Matt’s shoe. “Why do you want to find this guy anyway? You said he killed your parents, so you trying to find him to kill him or something?” He demanded, raising his eyebrows at Matt though now the glow from his cigarette had gone it was even harder to make out his expression.

“I... N – No, no I... I’m not trying to kill him.” Matt stuttered, quickly backing off. He got the impression he had said something wrong and that if he didn’t get out of here soon he was going to end up hurt. “I was just... Look, take the picture.” Matt quickly handed the drawing back to the other man, pushing it into his hands as he walked menacingly towards him. To Matt’s surprise he held onto the paper, though he didn’t move his gaze from Matt’s face. 

“Please, just show that to your boss. Show it to anyone and ask if they know this man.” Matt pleaded, walking backwards again as he stared nervously at the man approaching him. “If you find any information then call Stock n’ Buy and ask for Matt.” With these final words Matt turned and ran before the man could get any nearer, his nerves finally deserting him so that he ran as fast as he could back the way he had came and towards the main road.

Matt knew that if he had stayed another moment things would have turned ugly. Dealing with men of the underworld was always risky, but Matt could tell that he had said or done something that had made the man in the doorway suddenly turn against him. He only hoped that he would still show the drawing around at least, though he didn’t hold much hope that any information would get back to him. He felt as if he had finally ruined any chance he had of getting his revenge.

XXX

“Alright you, you can’t keep dragging me here like this! I am not your dog!”

“Futrelle! How good it is to see you, please come in. Sit down. Can I interest you in some tea?” King grinned sweetly at the furious mobster and waved his hand at a chair already set up for him. Hunter had brought Futrelle straight to King’s study where the killer had been busy setting up a small tea table complete with cake stand and a full tea tray along with two garden chairs. Futrelle did not look impressed by the set up.

“No I don’t want any bloody tea you bastard! I told you, you can’t keep dragging me away I was in the middle of –”

“Oh SPARE me you’re dramatics Giovanni.” King sighed in a sing-song voice, his habit of shouting and then speaking softly once more coming into play. It was something he did when he was really in his element, when he was busy manipulating and working he felt it added an extra something; though it would be wrong to say it was forced, the way King spoke just happened naturally and he let it. 

Giovanni Futrelle was one of the city’s most notorious gangsters and it was clear being offered cake and tea was not something he was used to or appreciated. Though his name suggested otherwise he was just as British as King, though he came from Italian heritage. King suspected that probably had something to do with his ferocious temper. He was an intimidating figure for most, but King had never feared the man, though he did respect him. Futrelle was the go to man for most things in the underworld, he could get you anything, do any job, and all in a limited time frame. Though his price for doing it was never an easy bill to pay.

“Please, sit.” King’s sickly sweet tone was back as he smiled and gestured once more at one of the garden chairs. Futrelle held his gaze for a long moment, scowling deeply at him and looking as though he was considering punching him. Only after a long, tense silence had passed did the mobster finally scoff and stride to the little table, sitting down in the opposite chair to the one King had indicated.

Unphased King smiled and sat down in the free seat, chatting amicably as if the two were good friends as he delicately lifted the antique china tea pot from the tray between them and filled their tea cups. 

Futrelle continued to glare at King as the man chattered brightly about the weather, only serving to make the mobster even angrier as he tapped his fat fingers impatiently on the metal table top. He despised King and his work. Though he had no problem with murder in general, King’s work was sucking away a lot of the clientele Futrelle had once been able to offer his services too. But his work was much messier and riskier than what King could do, and Futrelle had none of the man’s grace or flair for the dramatic. In his opinion King was nothing more than an arrogant, camp little man who needed kicking down to size, but as much as Futrelle wished he could get him out of the picture it was impossible to get the upper hand over King.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here.” King finally stopped making small talk and handed a cup and saucer to Futrelle before sliding the second closer to himself. Futrelle ignored his own tea, gritting his teeth so that he didn’t snap and let his temper get the better of him as he was forced to wait for King to add milk and sugar to his own cup. 

King took great pleasure in forcing the mobster to wait for him, knowing it was irritating him and enjoying the way it caused an electric tension in the room. After tasting his tea and deeming it acceptable King turned to the cake stand and took a good while examining every cake and biscuit before selecting a pink iced fairy cake and placing it neatly on a napkin beside his cup and saucer. By the time he looked to Futrelle again the man was practically shaking in frustration, the vein his temple visibly pulsing and his jaw tense from his clenched teeth. 

“Have a fairy cake.” King offered sweetly, smirking when Futrelle snarled and banged his fist down loudly on the table. 

“Just tell me why you brought me here King!” He snarled, managing not to raise his voice only with a supreme amount of effort. King’s smirk grew, his long pale fingers reaching out to pick up his own fairy cake and slowly remove its paper case. 

“I have a job for you.” He finally spoke, pushing the paper case aside and then smudging a fingertip through the pink icing atop the cake, his eyes focused on that rather than Futrelle, almost as if he had forgotten he was there and was now speaking to himself. “Do you see the drawing behind me?”

Futrelle sighed and frowned, moving his gaze over King’s shoulder and spotting the drawing pinned to the wall behind him. He shrugged and nodded, not seeing what was so important about it. 

“Yeah.”

“I need you to find that man.” King sucked the icing off his finger with diligence, licking away every trace of stickiness before picking up his tea cup and gazing over it at Futrelle as he sipped at the tea. “Think you can do that?”

“What do you need him for?” Futrelle eyed King suspiciously, though his question had been mostly sarcastic. He knew that King only ever found people to kill them, but he usually knew where they were, he had never before had to ask for help in order to find someone. “You gonna kill him?”

“That remains to be seen.” King said quietly, sipping at his tea and gazing down at the table for a moment. “Find him for me, that’s all.” King licked his lips and put the cup back down on the saucer, turning his bored expression on Futrelle. “You can go.”

“I don’t think so.” Futrelle scoffed, looking to the drawing again before once more meeting King’s gaze. “I don’t do a job without discussing prices first.” He drawled, his lips twisting into a sneer. He was sick of doing favours for King for nothing in return and he wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. It was making him into a laughing stock, people had started to whisper about him behind his back, calling him King’s pet and he wasn’t going to stand for it. 

King looked at Futrelle with the same bored expression though his eyes had lit up with some interest. His lips twitched at the corners as if he was trying not to smile. 

“Prices? I don’t pay you.” King cocked his head to the side with a small smirk, his eyes boring into Futrelle’s. “I hope you haven’t forgotten that you work for me.” 

“Damn you! I do not work for YOU!” Futrelle’s voice was full of disgust as he shouted, slamming his fist hard down on the table so that it shook and the tea cups clattered in their saucers. No sooner had he sat back than King was on his feet, his own tea cup in hand. Quick as a flash King had smashed his tea cup against the side of the table and flown into Futrelle’s lap, straddling his large thighs as he seized the grey hair at the back of his head and yanked so hard that it almost tore right out, Futrelle snarling as his head was forced backwards.

“Oh dear we have forgotten ourselves haven’t we?” King purred, his voice venomous as he held the broken edge of the tea cup against Futrelle’s neck, pressing the sharpened points lightly against his jugular. “Do not forget I OWN you Giovanni. And I could TEAR your flesh from bone just to wear your skin as a _coat_.” King gazed intently at the mobster for a long moment, Futrelle not daring to open his mouth and say anything in response. 

“Wouldn’t that be a SWEET fashion statement?” King chuckled, relaxing ever so slightly as his outburst calmed down and he grew rational again. He looked to the tea cup and smiled coolly, tracing the sharpened points in a large circle against the side of Futrelle’s neck, scratching the skin so that it bled. 

Futrelle winced and clenched his teeth, his eyes boring into King’s as he tried not to let it show that it hurt. There was a dull ache at the back of his head where King still had a vice like grip on his hair, some of the strands breaking loose.

“Mm...” King hummed and smiled, stopping his scratching and just resting the cup against Futrelle’s neck. “I wonder what your little friends would think about their master being killed by a _teacup_.” 

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Futrelle’s face as he swallowed thickly, the muscles on his neck contracting visibly from his position. He had no doubt that King could, and would, kill him. It was this type of behaviour that reminded him that King would always be one step ahead of him. He could have Futrelle dead before he even had chance to draw his gun, he was at the younger man’s mercy no matter how much he despised it.

“I’ll find him for you.” He finally whispered after staring into King’s calculating eyes for longer than he could bear. “The guy, I’ll find him.”

“Yes you will.” King drawled, smiling as he stroked his free hand down the side of Futrelle’s face. “Good doggy.” He purred, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to Futrelle’s forehead before getting up off his lap. 

Futrelle took a deep breath and sat up dizzily, his head spinning as his neck throbbed from where it had been cut. He pressed his hand over it to try and cover the bleeding, scowling with deep hatred at King’s back from where he had turned and strode across the room to rip the drawing off the wall. Futrelle considered shooting him then, burying a bullet between those shoulder blades would give him no greater pleasure but King was already turning back round, picture in hand.

“I like you Giovanni.” King smirked, handing the drawing to the older man and laughing in his face when Futrelle snatched it from him in force. “Easy tiger...” King purred, gazing seductively at the fat man as he got to his feet and faced King for a moment. 

“I’ll need a month.” He told him bluntly, King shaking his head with a teasing grin.

“I don’t think so Doll.” He chuckled, stepping up to Futrelle and delicately straightening out his collar and tie for him. “I should give you a day for you insolent behaviour...” King idly rubbed the tie between his fingers, feeling the silk. “But since I like you, and I’m feeling SO generous...” King let the tie drop again, stepping back as his smirk disappeared and he turned serious. “One week.”

“A week!?” Futrelle felt his anger surge forward again, his skin crawling from where King had touched him. “That’s nowhere near enough –”

“ONE. WEEK.” King shouted, his face twisting into a look of sheer rage before growing calm almost immediately, Futrelle’s head reeling. “Now go.” King demanded, sighing as though he had grown suddenly weary and he sank back down into his seat at the metal table. “Before I change my mind and make it a day after all.”

Futrelle snorted in disgust but he didn’t need telling twice. He turned and left the room without another word, tucking the drawing into his suit jacket as he went. He slammed the door shut on King, the younger man having picked up his fairy cake again and he grinned to himself as he listened to Futrelle marching out of the house before he took a greedy bite out of the cake, smearing pink icing around his lips.


	4. Business as usual

It is said that an artist creates things that people want but do not need. 

If King was to consider this, and he rarely did, then he would probably be inclined to agree. 

King was not the type of man who would think deeply about art, whether it be his or anyone else’s. He considered himself an artist, he was sure others would disagree, but it was not his problem to consider that. The only thing that he needed to commit his mind to was his job and that needed practical thinking not philosophical musings. However, it would be wrong to say that King was incapable of being philosophical when he wanted to be.

To the shady characters of the city’s underbelly and even to his clients King was nothing more than a paid assassin. He was no better than the common cut throats of centuries past; it did not matter how he killed people the ending was still the same as any other murder and that made him the same as any other killer. 

King didn’t disagree with that point of view. He killed alone and so he did not expect anyone to understand his methods. But he of course knew better… He knew what he was and that was an artist.

“You know… The beauty about art is that it is purely subjective.” King span on his heel, turning to face his new victim with a soft smile. “Do you like art Lady Marwick?” 

The woman, Lady Marwick, raised her eyebrows at King and shrugged, apparently more interested in lighting her cigarette than listening to what the young man was saying to her. 

“I suppose.” She sighed, her cigarette finally catching and she inhaled a deep lungful of smoke as she placed the used match into the ashtray in front of her. “All the art you’ll find here was bought years ago before I was even born; none of it is of interest to me.” 

The Marwick’s, a well off family, lived in a large country home some miles from the city. Twenty people could have comfortably lived in the house, but the only inhabitants were Lord and Lady Marwick and their toy poodle, Florence. Once it had been venue to large, extravagant parties, but now it reeked of dust and decay. Lately the only visitor who ever came by was Frank, Lady Marwick’s much younger lover.

“You’ll find most of the paintings upstairs. I trust you can show yourself around.” Lady Marwick spoke in a bored tone, her gaze fixed on her cigarette as she tapped the end against the side of her ashtray. King smiled pleasantly at her, his hands resting behind his back as he continued to stand exactly where he was, it only taking Lady Marwick a moment before she slowly lifted her head to quirk an eyebrow at him.

“The stairs are just in the entrance hall, where you came in.” She reminded him, frowning when King still didn’t move. 

“Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll look at the paintings just yet.” King’s lips tugged into a slow smile as he looked at Lady Marwick, sauntering towards her at a leisurely pace. “I wish to talk to you first…”

Lady Marwick raised her eyebrows at King, shrinking back into her seat as he neared her. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as if she was some sort of prize he was hoping to win. On instinct she crossed her legs and wrapped one arm across her body, though she held her other arm out so that there was no fear of her cigarette dropping ash onto her damask couch.

King had come to the Marwick’s residence on the behest of Lord Marwick. He had met the man only one week ago and it had taken no time at all to arrange a deal, receive his payment and have the old man set up a meeting between himself and his wife. Lady Marwick had been told by her husband that King was an artist who had contacted him after hearing of his family’s extensive art collection. He told her that King wanted to look at a few of the original pieces they owned; the lady had had no reason to suspect either her husbands or the artist’s intentions. Her husband was a dreary, aging fat man who never did anything interesting or out of the ordinary. They had been married for thirty two years, what reason did she have to ever believe he would seek to harm her?

“Is your husband not home lady?” King asked smoothly, coming to a halt with barely a gap between his and Lady Marwick’s legs. He knew full well that the man of the house was absent, he had made sure of it. 

“No he isn’t.” Lady Marwick sniffed, glaring up at King. “He had to run some errands.” The Lady didn’t like how King was standing so close to her, but if he thought he was going to intimidate her that easily he was wrong. Lady Marwick had been rather beautiful when she was young, and she wasn’t unattractive now even at fifty two years of age; she had had to fight off many men in her lifetime and she doubted this artist would be much of a challenge.

“If you’re not here to look at the paintings then you can leave.” She told King, going to get to her feet and push past him but to her surprise King gripped her shoulders and pushed her forcefully back down into the couch. Lady Marwick stared up at the artist with wide eyes and parted lips, her anger rising inside her like a tidal wave but King had started to pace back and forth in front of her and she found herself sitting still to listen as he spoke.

“Now now… Let’s not get ourselves all worked up.” King purred, keeping his head turned so his gaze never left Lady Marwick’s face. “We haven’t even introduced ourselves properly.” King paused in his pacing, turning to face Lady Marwick head on as he smiled sweetly at her. “What may I call you, Lady Marwick?”

“You may call me Lady Marwick.” The woman replied curtly, going to get up again but she hesitated when King moved his hands from where they had been pushed into his suit pockets and she knew he would only push her down again. “I think you should leave –”

“What do your _friends_ call you, Lady Marwick?” King’s voice was harder now, barely noticeable between its usual soft sing-song qualities, but Lady Marwick got the impression he was not going to be patient with her. She opened her mouth to tell him to get out again since he had ignored her, but King interrupted her before she could even start. “What does _Frank_ call you?”

Lady Marwick opened her mouth and then promptly shut it again, her cheeks tinging pink as she stared at King in silent shock. For a moment she was unable to say anything, her heart racing as she stared suspiciously at the young man. 

“I… How do you know about him?”

“Details aren’t important, what is important is your _name_.” King purred the last word like a dirty secret, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of his game as he grinned at the aging woman. He had a good range of clients and thus a fair mix of victims, but it was nearly always men he was asked to kill. Whenever he was given a female victim the excitement was barely containable. 

Lady Marwick continued to stare at King in silent horror. She was beginning to feel fear creep up on her. Who was this man and how did he know about her lover? She suddenly wished Frank was with her, or even her husband; she suddenly didn’t feel so confident that she could over power King.

“Lady Marwick… Tell. Me. Your. NAME.” The sudden shouting caused the Lady to jump and gasp in her horror, dropping her cigarette onto the floor as her hands automatically gripped the edge of the couch.

“S – Sarah!” She squeaked without thinking, her cheeks growing a deeper shade of red as she took a deep breath and tried to compose. “My name is Sarah.”

King sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, opening them again with a smile. 

“There now, that wasn’t so hard was it?” He purred, calmly stepping forward to crush the still burning cigarette into the carpet before it could create a fire. “You know that’s a lovely name… Sarah.” King said thoughtfully, standing back again and looking up to the ceiling as if he had had an epiphany. “Biblical.”

Sarah kept silent as she watched King; the man had started to pace again, walking to one end of the couch she was sat on and then the other, looking at her the whole time. 

“The highest art is always the most religious,” King’s voice suddenly rang out, loud and booming as he stopped pacing again and looked to the ceiling once more, “and the greatest artist is always a devout person.” King dropped his head to look at Sarah, his lips curling into a twisted smile. “Abraham Lincoln.” He said simply before resuming his pacing.

“You know, I never went to art school.” King looked at Sarah from the corner of his eyes, giving a fake sad pout. “But I do consider myself an artist. A GREAT artist even.” He sighed, his voice taking on a melancholy edge. “I even try to be devout… I do.” He sighed, nodding his head at Sarah. “But it’s so difficult…” He groaned, rolling his head back on his shoulders as he turned to face Sarah again. “When people are just disgusting… _filthy_ … SINNERS!”

Sarah gasped and jumped at King’s sudden roar, a cry of horror escaping her lips when he suddenly lunged at her, planting his hands onto the couch seat either side of her so that she was caged between him and the back of the furniture. 

“Get away from me!” She gasped, trying to push him away but he was like a statue, his strength surprising. He didn’t seem to be hiding any muscles beneath his smart suit and yet he must have been.

“Shh, shh, shh…” King hushed Sarah gently, shaking his head at her. “Just calm down…” He whispered, smiling softly at her as if it had been her who had had the outburst. Sarah just continued to stare at him with wide, nervous eyes.

“Now… Sarah… Darling Sarah…” King sighed, lifting his hand to the woman’s face and stroking his fingertips down to her neck. “My name is King… And I am going to give you the chance to repent for your sins.” He breathed quietly, sharing the words like a prayer before jumping back as Sarah gasped in shock and pressed a hand to her neck.

“Ow!” Sarah’s eyes were wider than ever as she clutched her neck and slowly drew her hand away. Her palm was clean but she could have sworn King had scratched her with something. The side of her neck hurt as if she had been poked with a needle and she got to her feet with a snarl. “Right, I’ve had just about enough of this!” She announced, striding towards King who just gazed at her calmly. “I don’t know who you are or how you know about Frank, but I don’t care. Get OUT of my house!”

“You’re going to die Sarah.” King’s voice was soft and almost monotone, Sarah barely registering his words but then she slowly stopped, her fists raised to beat against Kings chest. She would have ignored him and continued to force him out of her house, except something about his calmly spoken words rung true. Something about the scratch to her neck and a churning in her stomach that made her listen.

“Sit down.” King ordered, pushing Sarah back onto the sofa before he grabbed one of the matching damask chairs and pulled it up so that he could sit opposite her. He draped once leg gracefully over the other and folded his hands in his lap, smiling softly at Sarah for a moment before he reached into his pocket and produced a gold pocket watch.

“I have just injected you with an extremely deadly toxin called Saxitoxin. The symptoms may begin to take effect anywhere between the next five or thirty minutes, so forgive me if I rush in all I’m about to tell you.” King’s voice had dropped low, resonating deep in his throat as he grinned widely at Sarah. He was deliberately changing the pitch of his voice to frighten her, the growing paleness of her skin making him feel smug to know he was succeeding.

“You’re lying, you –”

“No no. Don’t speak. Just listen.” King ordered, leaning back in his chair and holding the pocket watch by its chain so that it dangled in front of Sarah, her eyes drawn to the small, ticking hand that moved around the face.   
“Your husband asked me to come here.” King sighed, tapping his knee with his free hand as if he were bored. “I’m sure you thought you’re little affair was a secret.” King’s eyes suddenly sparkled as he looked at Sarah’s terrified face, laughing heartily to himself. “Very foolish of you really, very foolish indeed.” He giggled, brushing an imaginary crease out of his trousers. 

“Listen to me, I –”

“SILENCE!” King’s face suddenly contorted into a look of rage and Sarah cried out as she pressed into the back of the sofa and began to cry softly. “What did I TELL you about keeping QUIET?” King’s eyes were ablaze as he glared at Sarah for a long moment, his teeth clenched and his jaw tense for a second before he slowly sank back down into his seat and managed to compose himself. He took a deep breath and brushed a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment before he looked at Sarah with his usual calm smile.

“Apologies. I do hate to be interrupted, especially when you could only have, ooh –” King looked at the watch. “Two minutes left before you really start to lose concentration.” King knew he had to carry on talking and he sighed as he tried to resume his previous flow of thought. 

“Now then, as I was saying. Your husband asked me to come here… He found out about your little affair and he wants his revenge.” King gave Sarah a small smirk, though he tried to sound sympathetic. “Now don’t think I’m killing you because you’re a dirty cheat…” King purred, smiling sweetly. “If you had come to me and asked me to kill your husband so you could run away with your precious Frankie then I would have done it, for a fee.” King shrugged and glanced at the time again, smirking as he looked at Sarah.

“Feel anything yet?” 

“No…” Sarah wasn’t sure why she was answering him, she didn’t want any part of his sick narrative and she considered getting up and trying to make him leave again. Or maybe she could just make a run for it, but something inside her knew that it was impossible. King wouldn’t be sitting so calmly if there was any chance she could escape, that much was obvious.

King sighed, disappointed that the poison hadn’t taken effect yet, but he shrugged it off. It would only be a matter of time. 

“Well, needless to say your darling husband wasn’t able to pay for both yours and Frankie’s death. So he was forced to choose between the two of you.” King cocked his head to the side, smiling at the tears in Sarah’s eyes. “You can take comfort knowing your little play thing is safe.”

“Frank…” Sarah choked, breathing his name as if it would somehow help her. King ignored her, continuing to speak as he watched her intently.

“The poison currently inside your body is produced by red tide algae. It acts as a channel blocker in the nervous system and will lead to paralysis and inevitable death.” The calm way in which King talked about the toxin only made Sarah feel even more frightened and she slowly ran her fingers beneath her lower lip as a tingling sensation surrounded her mouth. 

“It usually kills by being ingested when people eat things like muscles, oysters – oh.” King stopped and a slow grin split his features. “You’re starting to feel it.” He breathed, his voice taking on a sinister edge and he looked at the pocket watch. “Only eight minutes… very impressive…” He mumbled as if to himself, starting to wrap the chain around the watch as he looked at Sarah whose fear was increasing along with the tingling sensation.

“I’m sure you’re currently feeling a tingling sensation around your mouth.” King spoke in a clear, professional voice, leaning to put the watch in his pocket. “This will start spreading to your neck and the rest of your face and gradually become a numbness.” King waited a moment, giving Sarah time to register his words as she began to rub both hands over her face and neck in terror. 

“You may also begin to feel dizzy, and your head will ache.” King continued, watching the woman closely. “You may begin to feel sick and could very well vomit. You will feel as if your throat is constricting and you will struggle to breathe. Your speech will become incoherent.” King’s voice became less and less clinical and more excited with each word, his body feeling as though it was tingling with a sort of electricity as he watched Sarah’s panic grow. 

“It will take anywhere between two and twelve hours for you to become fully paralysed. Without respiratory help you will die.” King couldn’t help but smile then, Sarah beginning to struggle to breathe as she clutched at her throat. 

“Your husband wanted a slow death for you… and poison is a woman’s weapon.” King smiled and made no move to follow when Sarah suddenly lunged to her feet and tried to run from the room. She felt disorientated and in her panic she stumbled several times, crashing into furniture and whimpering as the door wavered in front of her.

“Lord Marwick will go to the local pub tonight, where he will become extraordinarily drunk and stay at a friend’s house.” King got to his feet and practically skipped to the dying woman. “That gives you plenty of time to die – but don’t worry. I won’t let you be alone. I will stay right with you until you breathe your very last.” King smirked as he grabbed Sarah by the hair and dragged her out of the living room and into the small dining room where she would eat whenever she was alone. 

“Sit here my darling.” He said sweetly, pushing her into a chair at the table and sliding it beneath the solid oak wood top. He would set a place for her and put the plate of contaminated sea food in front of her once she was dead, but for now he simply sat down in the middle of the table top, crossing his legs beneath himself and resting his chin on his hands ready to watch the woman die.  
*  
“Sir? You might want to take a look at this.” A drawing slid across the desk the broad man was sat behind, peeling the skin off an orange with a small knife. He was side on to the desk but he turned his head to look at what had been pushed in front of him. “There’s been a man asking around for you.”

The broad man suddenly span in his chair to face forward, dropping his orange and slamming his knife blade first into the desk so that it wobbled on the point as he snatched up the piece of paper. Staring back at him was a biro sketch of his own face, though you wouldn’t recognise him from it now. The sketch depicted a much more youthful face than the one he had now; though the drawing was by no means perfect, it certainly would have helped a stranger recognise him twenty years ago.

“Who?” The broad man’s voice was deep, coming out in a snarl as he questioned who had been using this drawing to try and find him. “How do you come to have this, and not the man who made it?” He growled, lifting his eyes to the man in front of him though he stayed hunched over the desk. 

“One of the Cresswell boys had it.” The smaller man replied, his voice calm. “They said they were given it by some nobody on the street. Apparently he’s just some guy who keeps asking for help for certain things. He wanted to know how to contact that King bloke, and now he’s asking around for you.” The man shrugged, it all too clear that he didn’t think the picture posed a problem but the broader man still looked furious as he slowly rose to his feet. 

“For fifteen years I’ve kept myself out of trouble.” He said slowly, his fists clenching. “And now you’re telling me some _nobody_ is parading around with this drawing and asking mobsters where I am!?” Suddenly he grabbed his knife from the table and pointed it sharply at his companion.

“You find this _nobody_ and you bring him to me! Now!” He shouted, his eyes blazing and the smaller man raised his eyebrows, lifting his hands as a sarcastic sign of surrender. 

“Alright, calm down.” He scoffed, used to dealing with such high tempers and he rolled his eyes as he took the drawing back off the desk. “I’ll find him.” He promised, shrugging as if it was nothing before he turned and left the room without another word, the broader man watching him with wide, panic filled eyes. 

The smaller man folded up the drawing and placed it back into his jacket pocket, unphased by the broad man’s temper and he ignored the sounds of objects getting flung across the room as he walked down the stairs and out of the building.   
It was just business as usual.


End file.
